Page 26 of Worth the Fight

“I just said three words to you.”

“You know what I mean.” I take a sip of my coffee and turn the handheld radio in my bag down when dispatch begins to chatter. “So are we going to pretend that I didn’t hear you bumping into walls the other night when you brought Wes home. Or giggling.” Or moaning.

“No, it happened. Believe me, it happened,” she murmurs, and a part of me is instantly pissed that Wes Winters was that good she’s still thinking about him.

“That good, huh?” There’s a bite to my tone when there shouldn’t be.

Her laugh is unexpected when it rings out and the self-deprecating sound to it rubs me the wrong way.

“None of your business,” she says with a playful smile that seems more forced than genuine.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” I say, trying to make her feel more at ease when I realize she’s most likely not used to talking to other men about her sex life. At least, I hope she’s not.

She splays her hands over her face for a second and shakes her head to try and clear the confused emotions from her expression. “No. I’m not—that isn’t what—I’ve never done that before. You don’t understand. Just . . . just never mind.”

Well, at least I know Wes isn’t a stallion in the sack.

“You’ve never had a one-night stand?” I try not to sound so surprised, but I don’t think I pull it off.

“No. God. No.”

“What’s wrong with them?” I ask with a partial laugh, trying to figure out how she lives in the Hollywood fast lane and is still so damn innocent.

“Nothing. It was just . . . you know what? It’s super weird discussing this with you.”

At least I called that right—it was embarrassment—not anything else that had her shying away from me.

“Look, there’s no use in regretting it. It was fun. It was one time. It was a way to get your mind off Jett the fuck face and back on you and your needs. There is no shame in it.”

“Says the man who probably lives at the One-Night-Stand Café.”

I pound my hand to my chest as if I’m clutching a dagger. “And she thinks so highly of me.”

“You had another nightmare last night, didn’t you?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“And you’re not answering,” she counters with an impenetrable stare.

I shrug. “Not sure. I was asleep.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Do I ever? No.

“If I did, I don’t remember, so there isn’t much to talk about.”

“You were screaming for an Andrew. I think that was the name.”

No. It’s Drew.

“Huh. That’s weird. I don’t know any Andrews.” I stand abruptly. “I’ve gotta get to the station.”

After I take a few steps, she calls my name. When I turn around, there is a sympathetic look in her eyes and concern on her face. “Don’t think I don’t notice how you always change the subject when it circles back to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With that, I turn and walk to my truck without looking back.

* * *